


The Singing Dragon Inn

by AngelaSnape



Category: Harry Potter - Rowling
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-08-24
Updated: 2010-08-24
Packaged: 2017-10-11 06:00:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,505
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/109167
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AngelaSnape/pseuds/AngelaSnape
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A second career for Charlie Weasley leads to a second chance at love, too.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Singing Dragon Inn

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Charlie Ficathon, 2010, on LJ. Gift fic for maevemist @ LJ.

**The Singing Dragon Inn**

  
The newly fallen snow crunched under Neville Longbottom's boots and glittered from tree branches as he walked up Hogsmeade's high street. Neville stopped in front of the Singing Dragon Inn, admired the icicles hanging from the eaves, and then pushed through the swinging door.

When Aberforth Dumbledore retired the previous spring, he had sold the Hogs Head and moved to Brighton. The inn had been closed for several months and was re-opening that day - just in time for some holiday cheer. Neville stood inside the doorway and surveyed the room. The new owner had made many changes. It was no longer a run-down pub: the wooden floor gleamed, animated Wizarding photographs decorated the walls, and a fire glowed cheerily in the hearth.

When Ron Weasley had told him that his brother was moving back to Britain and retiring from dragon-keeping, Neville had been surprised. He'd last spoken to Charlie Weasley at Ron and Hermione's wedding, and Neville had got the impression that he was quite happy to be living in Romania, working with dragons.

Neville nodded a greeting at the pub's only other patrons - a group of Hogsmeade's shopkeepers - and made his way to the back of the pub. The bar was made of dark wood, and had been polished to a high shine. Neville perched on a leather-upholstered stool and leant forward on his elbows to wait for the bartender.

"Professor Longbottom," said Charlie Weasley. "Welcome to the Singing Dragon Inn."

"Please, Charlie, call me Neville," said Neville, smiling. He offered his hand in greeting, which Charlie grasped with a calloused hand.

"Fine, then," said Charlie with a grin. "What'll it be, _Neville_?"

"Old Ogden's, neat," replied Neville.

Charlie slid the tumbler of amber liquid towards him, then turned to greet the two witches who'd just arrived.

Watching Charlie as he opened two Butterbeers and tucked the Galleons into his apron pocket, Neville wondered how an attractive man like Charlie Weasley could still be single. Shorter and stockier than the other Weasley men, Charlie exuded the kind of masculinity and raw physical power that drew Neville in a way no other man had. According to Ron, Charlie had never brought a companion - witch or wizard - home to the Burrow, nor had any of them ever heard him mention of such a person. Neville vowed to frequent the Singing Dragon Inn as often as his Hogwarts duties allowed.

*~*

The Carpathian Mountains were a breathtaking backdrop for life as a dragon keeper; the dragons themselves presented a daily challenge that Charlie Weasley thrived upon. Charlie had never thought he would return to Britain to live, but one too many near-misses had convinced him that it was time to retire and leave the dragons to the younger keepers. Sad to think that at forty he was too old for his chosen profession, but after an enraged Longhorn had attacked him and his partner, Charlie was lucky to be able to come home at all. Andrei had not been so lucky.

Charlie's Mum had suggested inn-keeping as a second career for him. Molly Weasley had been instrumental in the Hogs Head Inn's transformation into the Singing Dragon, supervising the stripping, staining, and polishing of all the wooden surfaces, and helping him to plan out a menu of simple pub fare. He made a mean fish and chips, if he did say so himself.

The Christmas holidays had passed by in a blur. Most of the professors at Hogwarts had come into the Singing Dragon Inn several times during its first month of operations. Headmistress McGonagall liked to come in for a brandy on a Saturday evening, while Professor Flitwick popped in occasionally for a Butterbeer. Another of his regular customers was Neville Longbottom, who sometimes came in with other professors, but more often than not, came in by himself and sat at the bar. Charlie enjoyed their conversations, and had come to like Neville in the short time they'd had to talk. _It didn't hurt that Neville was tall and had eyes that made Charlie want to bare his soul to him._

Charlie was writing the daily specials on the chalkboard beside the bar -- _Stilton-Stuffed Mushrooms, 1 Galleon, 13 Sickles _\-- when the pub's door blew open. He turned around to close it, and was reaching for his wand when he realised someone had come in with the wind.

"Do come in from the cold," called Charlie, limping a little as he headed behind the bar. "I've some lovely halibut today, and the fryer's ready to go."

Neville charmed the snow off his boots, and opened his heavy woollen cloak as he approached the bar. "Fish and chips would be great, thanks."

"Firewhisky?" Charlie suggested, ready to Summon the bottle of Old Ogden's at Neville's agreement.

"Please," said Neville as he hung his cloak on a nearby peg. "I have a free evening - no late hall patrols for me." Neville sat at the bar, and rubbed his hands together and blew on them as if to warm them.

"So, what brings you here at suppertime?" asked Charlie. "Tired of the house-elves' food already?"

"It's liver and onions tonight - with Brussels sprouts," replied Neville with a shudder. "Your fish is _much_ better."

As he poured out a generous tumblerful of Firewhisky, Charlie considered the man in front of him. It had been a long time since he'd had any sort of regular companionship, what with getting the pub in order and moving from Romania, and Charlie thought that perhaps it was time to end his celibacy. Andrei would understand.

*~*

The amber liquid burnt a trail down Neville's throat, pooled in his stomach and warmed him from the inside. Neville loosened the top button of his robes, then took another sip, slower this time. _No need to hurry_, Neville thought.

"Thank you," said Neville when Charlie placed a plate heaped with battered fish, golden chips, and sautéed mushrooms in front of him. Before Charlie withdrew his hand, Neville spotted something distinctly green and draconiform coiling around Charlie's wrist. "Is that a tattoo?" he asked.

"Bronwen must like you," said Charlie, rolling up his sleeve and extending his arm. "She's usually shy around customers and hides under my clothing."

"What kind of dragon is she?" asked Neville, forgetting for the moment about his hunger and the food in front of him.

"Bronwen's a Welsh Green," replied Charlie. "There's also Ágota, who's a Hungarian Horntail, and Kiri, who's an Antipodean Opaleye."

"Are they all--" A growl from Neville's stomach cut off his next question.

"Go on," Charlie urged. "Tuck in while it's still good and hot."

The fish was delicious, with a light crispy batter and a mild flavour. The chips were done to perfection, and the mushrooms - not normally one of his favourite foods - were tasty, accompanied by onions, tomatoes, parsley and… _oregano_. One thing Herbology had taught him was how to recognise the presence of many different herbs - magical and non-magical alike - in foods. It had saved his life on at least one occasion during seventh year.

Neville and Charlie chatted between customers and bites of crispy fish. It was a pleasant change to be able to eat a meal without keeping an eye on several hundred students and to talk about something other than House points and how much grading was piling up. His plate cleared of all traces of food, Neville turned on his stool to lean sideways against the bar.

It appeared that the winter weather was keeping people home that evening - Neville counted just a dozen customers on what was normally a very busy night. The wind howled, blowing snowflakes in all directions, and Neville could hardly see the lights in the building across the lane from the pub through the front windows.

"Another Firewhisky?" suggested Charlie as he Banished Neville's empty plate and cutlery to the kitchen. He began polishing the bar, and Bronwen made another appearance, this time on the back of his hand.

"Please," said Neville as he watched Bronwen licking at Charlie's knuckles. "Can you feel them moving?"

Charlie looked confused for a moment. "Oh, you mean the tattoos?"

Neville nodded, and took a sip from the glass Charlie had just refilled. _Last one before heading back to Hogwarts_, Neville decided.

"Yes, I can feel them moving," said Charlie. "That's half the fun of a magical tattoo."

"What does it feel like?" asked Neville, fascinated.

"That depends. Bronwen likes to tickle me with the tip of her tail. Ágota's spiky tail feels more like a scratch than a tickle, but she also likes to spread her wings and slide down my back. Now _that_ feels more like a caress - and if she gets me in just the right spot, it can get downright embarrassing."

"And the other one, Kiri, was it?" Neville prompted.

Charlie's brown eyes flashed; he Summoned a glass and poured himself two fingers of Firewhisky. Neville looked around the room and realised that he'd outlasted the other customers.

"I should get going," said Neville, though he really wanted to stay and learn more about - and hopefully see the rest of - Charlie's tattoos.

A wave of Charlie's wand locked the door and flipped the sign from 'Open' to 'Closed'. "Why don't you stay a little longer? I could use the company."

After a moment's consideration, Neville agreed. It was Friday night, after all, and Neville had no reason to be up early the next morning. They moved to a booth near the hearth, Charlie bringing along the bottle of Firewhisky.

Charlie's limp was more pronounced now after an evening on his feet; he'd told Neville the story of how he'd been injured by one of the dragons in his care on Neville's last visit. The mediwizards in Bucharest had done all they could to heal Charlie's leg, but the damage had been too severe. He was lucky to have survived the attack, let alone escape without scars. Neville suspected there were emotional scars, too.

"Now, where was I?" asked Charlie. "Right - my tattoos."

Charlie sat across from Neville and took a swig before continuing his tale.

"Now, Kiri?" said Charlie, "she's a cheeky one."

"How so?" Neville leant back against the booth, cradling his tumbler in one hand. Far from being cold, he'd warmed up considerably since his arrival.

"Kiri, she likes her fire," said Charlie in a low voice, an octave below his usual tone. "She aims jets of flame at my nipples, one after the other, heating them up until I can't stand the feel of my shirt against them."

Neville shifted a little in his seat, but said nothing. He was worried he'd squeak like a pre-pubescent boy if he did.

"Then, just when I think she's going to give me respite, she does the same to my navel."

Neville gulped at the image of the iridescent dragon's red fire against freckled Weasley skin. "And then?" Neville asked, thankfully without squeaking or stuttering.

"Then, Neville, she caresses my cock with her pearly scales and drives me nearly to the brink."

Glad that the table hid the erection that was making itself known, Neville forced himself to breathe slowly, and willed his racing heart to resume its normal rate. He undid another button, and slid his glass towards Charlie, who refilled it without so much as a word from Neville.

"What about you, Neville? Any tattoos you'd like to tell me about?"

*~*

Charlie chuckled under his breath as he watched Neville try not to squirm in his seat. Obviously, his descriptions of his tattoos had had the desired effect. Now all he had to do was convince Neville to stay.

"N--no," stammered Neville. "I don't have any tattoos."

"Pity," said Charlie.

The clock chimed midnight; the flames in the hearth had died down to an orange glow. Neville slid out of the booth and stood. "I'd best be going."

Charlie stood, blocking Neville's path. "I'd rather you stayed," he said before lifting his face up to brush his lips against Neville's.

Neville's eyes were glazed as he licked his lips, then returned Charlie's kiss. Charlie groaned and traced the path of Neville's tongue with his own, probing his way inside. Neville tasted of Firewhisky and an underlying hint of oregano from the mushrooms. Charlie could feel the evidence of Neville's arousal pressing into his abdomen, and shifted his hips a little, pushing his own erection into Neville's thigh. Neville's arms wound around Charlie's neck as Charlie's own wrapped around Neville's waist.

Charlie leant back against the table, pulling Neville with him. He spread his legs a little and settled Neville between them. Charlie nipped at Neville's earlobe and kissed a trail down his neck, all the while moving his hips _just so_ and creating delicious friction between their hard cocks.

Neville recaptured Charlie's mouth in a kiss that was all tongues and teeth. He gripped Charlie's hips and lifted him up onto the table. Charlie wrapped his legs around Neville's waist, bringing their hips into perfect alignment and easing the strain on his sore leg. Neville leant forward, pushing Charlie back onto the tabletop, all without breaking the kiss.

All Charlie could hear was the sound of their passion: grunts and groans, pants and gasps. His entire existence had been reduced to Neville above him, and the hard tabletop below. _Next time I'll have to remember the Cushioning charm._

They broke apart, gasping for breath. "You live here, right?" asked Neville. "I presume you have a bedroom somewhere?"

Charlie nodded, and made sure the coals were banked in the hearth before leading Neville to the door to his private rooms.

*~*

Sunlight streamed through the window. Neville awakened, disoriented in the unfamiliar bedroom. Charlie stirred beside him, and Neville flushed red at the memories of all they'd done together the night before.

Leaning on one elbow, Neville took advantage of the opportunity to observe Charlie while he was sleeping. Bronwen, the Welsh Green tattoo, lay curled in sleep on Charlie's shoulder. Ágota and Kiri, on the other hand, were nowhere to be found. Neville's blush deepened as he remembered where he'd first seen Charlie's other two tattoos. _ Cheeky, indeed!_

"Good morning," said Charlie in a voice that was still raspy with sleep. "Red becomes you."

"Good morning." Neville leant forward and brushed Charlie's lips with his own. _Red is certainly growing on me,_ Neville thought as he threaded long fingers into Charlie's hair.

"Can you stay for breakfast, or do you need to get back to Hogwarts?" asked Charlie.

"Actually, it's my weekend off," said Neville as he slid out of bed. "I'll Floo the Headmistress and let her know I won't be back until tomorrow evening, then I'll make us some breakfast."

"Just make sure you put on some clothes _before_ you call Minerva," suggested Charlie with a grin.

Neville blushed. Again. He Summoned his robes and slipped into them as he headed for Charlie's Floo. Neville had a feeling he'd be spending even more time at the Singing Dragon Inn from now on.


End file.
